


Professor Incognito

by bylaude



Series: Summer Wind [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BAMF Byleth, Chaotic Dumbass Byleth, Cool Big Sis Byleth, DLC Byleth, Deadpan Snarkers, Female My Unit | Byleth, Foreshadowing, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Timeskip, Ship Tease, a lot of ship tease, byleth: "tfw you're tryna have fun but this deer boy tryna make it about his schemes", despite the summary it gets serious sometimes lmao, dimitri is just maximum dork. pls help him, edelgard is big bipanic mood, follows the Summer Wind continuity, glossed over implication of a stepford smiler Byleth, mainly between Byleth and each of the lords, mostly canon compliant except for Byleth's personality, not pre release but references stuff from my pre release fics, she's the crouching moron hidden badass trope, technically no actual romance since they're students and also Byleth dk them well yet...BUT there is, uhhhh too many characters to tag so I'll only tag my POV characters lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-19 07:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bylaude/pseuds/bylaude
Summary: Rhea suggests that Byleth gets to know the students before deciding upon a house. Manuela tells her only the house leaders have been informed she’s to be a teacher. And Byleth — well, Byleth does the only reasonable thing when one sees an opportunity: she takes it. [Pre-Timeskip]Or: Byleth decides to have some fun and masquerades as a fellow student, the house leaders attempt to appeal to her to get her to teach them — and the shenanigans that follow. Inspired by F!Byleth’s DLC student outfit because why not.





	1. I'm Definitely A Student!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit too tight, but she'll live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who had this idea from the moment the DLC outfits were announced, but if there are any fics like this, I'm too afraid to look at the FE3H tag to find out lmao. It's not even a month and Ao3 has exploded from 300+ pre release fics to uhhhhhhhhhh almost 1500??? And a lot of them have spoilers. In the DESCRIPTION. So yeah I'm afraid to look HAHAHAH
> 
> This is not pre release, but it DOES follow the events of my other pre release fics of the Summer Wind series (though not 100%, since I haven’t edited the other stories to fit canon…and might not lmao). Among the events referenced is Byleth saving the three lords and accidentally using her crest (from Black Sleep, though in that story, Jeralt actually intended to go to the monastery, not because he’s forced into going like in canon). Not very important, but I’ve already subscribed to that headcanon because it makes more sense to me that the lords would only be clamouring to “get” her after she’s significantly impressed them (which, uh, doesn’t fit in canon because Jeralt would usually kick Kostas’ ass before my Byleth can reach him lol plus he’s the one telling Byleth, the player, what to do to win).
> 
> I’ll try to keep it spoiler-free because I know some people probably haven’t even finished their first route (I know y’all are out there and I gotchu). However, there WILL be vague references and foreshadowing to spoilery stuff, which you likely won’t get unless you’ve already played through the game (or if you’re very good at guessing lol). If I do spoil something, keep an eye out on the notes at the start of each chapter! Note that if I spoil anything else that I don’t warn about it’s uhhhhhhh pure speculation and headcanon on my part and not done knowingly lmaoo. I've only played through GD so far, so I know very little about the other routes.
> 
> This is multi-chapter and will have a couple of chapters of her interacting with various students. I aim to have at least one interaction between Byleth and each student (maybe faculty too?) because I don’t wanna play favourites. Even though I absolutely have favourites and the house leaders will definitely be featured more prominently. Final three chapters will be scenarios of Byleth choosing each of the three houses and their reactions.
> 
> (why tf are my notes always so long)
> 
> SPOILER(S) for this chapter: None so far, except for the very first (and second? I think?) chapter of the game. Some vague references in Jeralt's POV, too, but it's mostly my speculation and not actually from the game lol. Byleth's mother briefly mentioned.

Jeralt tosses his belongings to the carpeted floor with a heavy sigh. After all this time, he’s right back where he started — the Captain of the Knights of Seiros.

“What a nuisance,” he grumbles, glancing about the room, “That Rhea…”

She hadn’t changed at all. What else is he to expect? Rhea has always been this way, even back when he had been too blind to see — always doing things without asking for the opinions of others, thinking she alone knows what’s best. For the most part, Jeralt knows that she’s not a malicious woman and doesn’t try to be, but how _overbearing_… He had never intended to return as the captain, nor did he intend for his own daughter to get involved in this mess.

A _professor_. Rhea is making Byleth a _professor_. And that fool daughter of his had agreed without a second thought, dodging the entire thing until she heard how much the position paid.

Granted, there’s little point in Byleth attempting to reject the job “offer” — denying the archbishop just isn’t done, especially not on the church’s land — but it still annoyed him. He couldn’t say much about it, however. Perhaps it was his own fault; despite shedding his title and turning to the life of a mercenary, Jeralt had never really stopped being a knight at heart, often coming to the aid of the smallfolk without asking for reward in return. It made Byleth more concerned about their financial state than any child should be — moreso than himself, anyway.

Jeralt sits at his desk, taking a moment to let the current situation sink in. No point in thinking of what-ifs and could-have-beens. Maybe he should use this as an opportunity, rather than curse it as an inconvenience. Jeralt picks through the items on the tabletop, idly rifling through the things left behind by the previous captain. He pushes the cigar tray off the desk, letting it fall into the trash, only to grimace when a cloud of ash erupt from the impact. Disdainfully, he sweeps off the excess ash from the mahogany wood with a sheet of paper.

It’s strange. Despite being in a place so familiar, it feels anything but. Is it because someone else had occupied this room in his absence and left evidence of themselves behind? Will he be able to make this space feel like it’s his again, with time and patience?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’s useless to ponder on such things. He isn’t here to be nostalgic nor is he here to make this place his once more.

But…maybe he should visit her soon… She’d want to see their daughter.

Jeralt swallows. How pitiful. After all this time, he still can’t bear to bring himself before her. He has to, though.

_One day,_ he swears to himself, only to startle from his reminiscing at the sound of clicking heels approaching his door. _That girl. So unsubtle…_

True to his thoughts, his daughter doesn’t bother with any ceremony, throwing open the doors to the captain’s quarters. One slams into the wall loudly, no doubt disturbing his neighbour, as Byleth strides in.

“Dad!” She beams, holding an entire tray piled up high with food. “Dinner!”

“Yes, I can see that,” he drawls, dryly, and stands up to close the door after her. By the time he turns around, she has already thrown herself on the sofa and made herself at home, having set the food on the coffee table. He considers her, almost envious of how quickly she adapts to the strange state of affairs, though mostly amused. He plucks a fruit from her tray, leaving her to contentedly chew through a chicken drumstick.

“So this is the captain's quarters, huh,” Byleth muses, turning her head this way and that as she takes in her surroundings. “Nice. It's twice as large as the bedroom they gave me at the students' dormitories! So unfair.”

“Already settled in?” He asks, sitting across her with a grunt. Between having to listen to Alois talk his ear off and indulging in Rhea’s requests, the day has been drawing out longer than it has any right to. Maybe it’s time to admit he’s getting old. Too old for this shit, at any rate.

“Yeah, it's not like I have much to unpack,” his daughter starts rambling, gesturing meaninglessly with her hands, “They gave me everything I need - change of clothes, necessities - even tools for weapon maintenance. Almost too good to be true. And they have a whole dining hall! They say we can eat there, whenever we want, however much we want.”

“If I recall, they also said not to eat in the rooms,” Jeralt says, raising a brow and shooting the tray between them a meaningful look. Byleth grins.

“They only specified _students’ rooms_.”

At her sly expression, he can’t help it. Jeralt barks a laugh. “Not even a day after accepting the teaching position and you’re already abusing your authority, are you? Unbelievable. Take care that you’re not a bad influence on the brats.”

She scoffs, kicking her feet up and crossing them on the table — thankfully angled away from the food. “Well, it’s a dumb rule. I’ll eat wherever I please.”

He shakes his head, exasperated. “Well, I don’t mind if you enjoy the facilities and their goodwill, but don't let your guard down, Byleth. Nothing is—”

“Ever for free,” Byleth finishes, rolling her eyes and sighing, “I _know_, I know. That's why you're here, working as their captain of knights, and that's why I'm here, taking a job as a professor. But are you going to tell me why we’re here to begin with?”

Jeralt falls silent, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. He wonders if Byleth knows she does that. His daughter, perfectly jovial only a moment ago, directs an inquiring look at him. It is not an overtly accusing gaze, or even remotely displeased, but it is an expression that still surprises him from time to time, on the rare occasion she turns it on him.

Prodding. It’s the only way he can describe it. It is a watchful look that feels faintly intrusive, almost like she can pick out every nuance in his mannerisms and decipher what each minute action mean. It reminds him of the days when she was younger, no taller than his knee, and watching the world with that same gaze, blank and unsmiling.

She worries him, he’ll admit…more so as she grew older and started plastering smiles she doesn’t mean on her face.

Jeralt tries to fib, playing ignorant. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, really. But the Archbishop is a difficult person to refuse—”

Byleth blinks. “Not that. Why are we really here?”

Jeralt is stiff-lipped. He only cocks a brow at her, throwing his arm over the back of his couch. She leans forward in hers and sighs.

“Come on, dad. I recently learn you're actually some famous, legendary knight who deserted the church and have evaded their notice for two decades — and you expect me to believe that we just coincidentally took on that job in a village so close to the monastery? You _wanted_ us to come here, didn't you?”

“Hm. Interesting theory.”

“_Dad_,” Byleth groans, throwing herself back and narrowing her eyes. “Are you investigating something here? Some secret mission you took up?”

He grunts. “If I say yes, will you leave it at that?”

She does not skip a beat, ascertaining quickly, “A personal mission, then.” It’s almost scary how astute his daughter is. Jeralt opens his mouth to reply, only for her to wave him off and completely steamroll over whatever explanation he tries to offer. “Whatever, dad. If you don't want me to get involved, that's fine, but you should at least give me a head's up about things like that.”

Though it is stated plainly, without any anger or blame, Jeralt still grimaces as he hears this. He knows that, of course. He _knows_ that he’s not telling her everything that he should, knows that there are things she deserves to know that he keeps from her. Before this entire fiasco, Byleth hadn’t even known that he used to be part of the religious order of knights who served the church, much less that he was their captain — only the vague knowledge that he once called himself a knight. She doesn’t know where she’s from, she doesn’t know her mother, she doesn’t know why they had to live this way, going from town to town and living off the earth and whatever nature chose to bless them with.

Still, for the most part, Byleth kept her silence. She had understood he wasn’t ready to speak of it and while he appreciates that, he also knows that perhaps he’s been abusing her trust. It’s difficult to speak of it, to expose his daughter to some things he’d rather she not know, but he also knows it is unfair of him to her.

(Maybe it is time to stop running away. There’s only so much he can protect her from, only so much he can prepare her for.)

He sighs. “Byleth… I'm sorry that I can't tell you anything, but I need to check some suspicions I have,” he says, vaguely, hesitating as he continues, “Things I need to verify before I throw around baseless accusations.”

Byleth watches him for a moment, her expression eerily unreadable. He wonders what she sees.

Finally, she shrugs, “Hm. Okay. Well, you know who to ask if you want to topple the church.”

Jeralt blinks, caught off-guard by the offer, before he releases an incredulous laugh. “Hah! Don't be silly, kid. I don't have any grand ambition like that.”

Byleth only shrugs again, tossing the chicken bone to the corner of the tray and busying herself with another drumlet.

“I’m just saying I’m here if you need the help.”

…If he needs help, huh? Jeralt thinks about it, huffing.

“You should be less trusting.”

She pauses in her chewing, raising a brow at him. “Less trusting? What does that even mean?”

Although he’s glad that she’s stopped her prodding for now, he also can’t help but think, _what, that’s it?_ It’s almost aggravating. His daughter never asked much, even when she had reason to. It didn't matter what. Her mother, her birth, the crest that she bears - Byleth never asked him for answers, not since she was very young and small, small enough that she could ride on his shoulders and he wouldn't even feel her weight. Jeralt knows that she means well, though - that she can see the pain that never quite left him when his wife, her mother, passed and left him with nothing except her memory, a ring and a tiny human being that had no one else to care for it but him.

Well. No one else that he trusted to care for her, anyway. It's the whole reason why he left. There wasn't - and still isn't - a soul within these walls whom he felt he could trust.

Jeralt doesn’t want her to make the mistake of putting her trust in those who don’t deserve it — and frankly? He’s not sure anyone here is worthy of it.

“Nothing,” he says finally, watching as she gives him a strange look — the one that makes him _swear_ she can tell what he is thinking. He chooses to divert the topic, finally taking a bite from the apple he had stolen from her tray. “What was that you said about the student dormitories? Why would you be there instead of the professors' quarters?”

Though she must realise that he’s changing the subject, Byleth lets him, perking up. “Oh! Hah, well…”

* * *

Sothis stares at her, lounging upon the chaise longue within Byleth’s dormitory room. Of all the things she could’ve woken up to, this fickle-minded girl had never been on the list. Granted, the list isn’t long at all, what with her amnesia and lack of knowledge of the world, but _still_.

She watches as the mortal child she finds herself trapped with turns and twists, almost enraptured by the swishing motion of her own skirt. Sothis grumbles.

“Just what on earth are you doing, prancing around in that?”

Byleth doesn’t even look at her, pre-occupied as she is with her own image in the mirror. “And what are _you_ doing, watching me like that?”

“What else am I to do?” Sothis sighs, put-upon as she rests her head on her fist. “It is not as though I can leave your side. This, however, is almost painful to watch. I can already think of the countless ways you could make a fool of yourself. Surely there is a better way to go about this.”

“_Countless_ ways? Don’t exaggerate,” Byleth scoffs, pulling a face as she glances at her through the mirror.

“So you agree there’s a definite possibility you’d make a fool of yourself in some way,” Sothis drawls, willing her incorporeal form to float off of the seat. She drifts to the young woman’s side, peering at her attire. “Aren’t you a bit too old to be dressed in that? You look even more a child like this.”

Byleth rolls her eyes. “I don’t see why not. It’s just for fun. When else would I have the opportunity to try stuff out like that?”

Sothis goes silent as Byleth ignores her to fuss over her clothes, wondering if perhaps this silly child is lonely. From what Sothis has observed, she’s primarily surrounded by older men and women — her father and his subordinates — and has quite possibly never been around those her age often, at least before this job offer.

At best, she has had contact with those much younger than herself, orphans who had been taken in by their mercenary company and grew up learning from Byleth herself, but perhaps it is not the same as being surrounded by peers. Though Sothis would argue that the children at the academy are not very different from those orphan children, being that they are to be taught by her in much the same manner.

Still, she does not ask or make further comment, floating about as she watches her charge fix her clothes.

“Something is missing,” Byleth is murmuring, smoothing down her sleeves.

“Perhaps more fabric on your legs?” Sothis snarks. “That skirt is far too short to be practical.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Byleth deadpans, side-eying her. “Have you seen _your_ clothes? That’s more leg than I ever want to see from a kid.”

Sothis splutters. “How insolent! For the last time, I am not a _child_—”

Byleth throws her a smirk over her shoulder. “Ah, does it irritate you to be called so? How wondrous! Something we share other than our birthday.”

Sothis purses her lips, crossing her arms. “Point made. I would still advise doing away with that skirt. A slight misstep is all that is needed for you to indecently expose your undergarments.”

Byleth waves her hand, dismissive. “It’s fine. I’m wearing shorts beneath it; can’t have little nobles screaming at me for being immodest if they happen to see something untoward while I’m fighting.”

Sothis sighs, not bothering to argue further on the issue. Clearly, she’s stuck with a particularly stubborn mortal. She’s sure that it’s not that Byleth doesn’t understand, just that she’s refusing to pay heed to Sothis’ concern.

“Ah! I got it…”

At this exclamation, the girl tilts her head, watching as Byleth runs over to her wardrobe and throws open the doors. She rummages through the contents briefly, before emerging with a black cloak. Securing it over her shoulders, Byleth swishes it with aplomb, posing in the mirror.

“Jackpot!”

Sothis drifts over, tugging the cloak over Byleth’s head and snickering as the human yells and trashes, cursing as she bats it out of her face.

“See?” Sothis grins smugly. “One of the many ways to be made a fool of.”

“Is that a promise?” Byleth irritably blows her hair out of her eyes. Sothis shrugs, before smiling and plucking a simple headband from the dresser.

“If you’re so insistent on this little act, you may as well look the part,” she floats over, brushing down Byleth’s dark flyaway hair. She freezes, quiet as Sothis slides the headband until the ends touch the back of her ears. She pushes on Byleth’s shoulders, angling her towards the mirror. “There. It fits well with the youthful look, doesn’t it?”

“Oh,” Byleth blinks at her reflection, touching the headband. “That doesn’t look bad, actually…”

“Well, of course. You’re welcomed,” Sothis says, sounding much too pleased with herself. Byleth instantly regrets ever saying a word and rolls her eyes.

“Are you alright in there?” A voice abruptly calls from beyond the door. “I heard yelling. Do you need help?”

“Uh,” Byleth fumbles for a moment, forgetting that she’s been keeping someone waiting. Sothis lets her pull away, returning to the longue chair as Byleth unlocks the door to greet her guest.

“I’m fine,” Byleth is saying, a smile in her voice and undoubtedly on her face. It is only a moment before the newcomer is invited into her charge’s room, white-haired and regal. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not at all,” the girl smiles back. Edelgard von Hresvelg is her name, if Sothis recalls correctly. The princess of a powerful empire. It makes her think; was there an empire, the last time she was awake? It is something to ponder on later. “I’ll admit, I was surprised when you had asked me for a spare set of the academy uniform, but I’m glad to help. I see that it fits you well. You are quite a bit taller than me, however, so perhaps the skirt…”

Sothis snorts. “See? I’m not the only one. It is _definitely_ too short.”

Byleth playfully spins around, giving Edelgard a good look at her appearance. It is largely for show, however, as she uses this to shoot Sothis a narrow-eyed look, even sticking her tongue out at her (the nerve!), before schooling her facial expression as she completes the turn and faces the other young woman.

“You think? Minor issue, don’t worry about it.” Then, right there and then, Byleth begins to peevishly pull at the fabric at her chest. “It is a bit tight up here, though.”

It is not a complaint that Sothis hasn’t heard yet and so she tolerates it with ease, but Edelgard does not fare so well. Despite herself, the girl flushes, her gaze drawn to Byleth’s generous bosom. Sothis sees the way her lavender eyes linger at how the fabric cinches at Byleth’s waist, where she had tucked the top into the skirt, following downward along the feminine curve of her hip before she abruptly remembers where she is and averts her stare, almost in a panic.

Sothis rolls her eyes. _Mortals_. How predictable.

“Stop that. You’re doing exactly what you said you wouldn’t. Just because she isn’t screaming, it doesn’t mean you’re not being untoward.”

At this, Byleth promptly stops, blinking. She laughs to clear the awkward air. “Sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”

Edelgard holds the back of a hand up to her mouth, a feeble attempt to hide her reddened cheeks. She coughs. “That’s quite alright. We’re both women here.”

Sothis heaves a loud sigh. “Very good. Look at what you did. And you claim to not be a child, do you?”

Sothis watches as Byleth shoots her a _look_, deeply disgruntled and unable to verbally retort without risking being seen a crazy person. This goes unnoticed by Edelgard, preoccupied as she is with avoiding Byleth’s gaze. It makes Sothis laugh.

“Maybe it’ll be best to ask Dorothea for one of her shirts,” Edelgard says, gingerly, “She’s more…_endowed_ than I am, so I imagine she must’ve made the necessary adjustments to her clothes.”

“Dorothea? Is she one of your housemates?” Byleth asks, duly ignoring the phantom girl curled up on her chair like an overgrown housecat. “I’d rather not. The point of this is so no one would know I’m not actually a student. And it’s not like I’m suffocating, so it’s fine.”

Regaining her composure, Edelgard falls silent, observing her keenly.

“…May I ask why you’re doing this to begin with? You must have a reason, surely.”

“Must there be a reason to everything?” Byleth smiles blandly, smoothing out her skirt. Noticing the frown on the girl’s face, Byleth laughs. “Really, don’t think so hard about it. It’s nothing complicated.”

“If you say so. There’s other ways to assess the students, if that’s what you’re trying to do before coming to a decision.”

“What I said,” Sothis drawls, yawning loudly. Byleth wants to throw something into her gaping maw. _I know what you said! Stop being distracting, you goblin._

“Probably,” she accedes, “But, well, where’s the fun in that? Keeping my employment a secret was Manuela’s idea, anyhow. I’m just taking an opportunity when I see it.”

“An opportunity,” Edelgard muses, trailing off in thought, before catching herself and smiling. “I suppose that’s one way to think. Well, professor, I hope you will make a decision you won’t regret.”

Byleth smiles. “Hm? Does that hold true, even if I were to choose a house other than the Black Eagles?”

Sothis, who has closed her eyes to drown out the chatter, lifts one lid to peer at the imperial princess. She sees Edelgard hesitate for the briefest of moments, looking deeply into hidden meanings behind Byleth’s words, or perhaps halting at the sharp gaze upon Byleth’s face, belied though it may be by her perfectly pleasant smile.

Sothis can hear it well enough and she knows Edelgard must’ve heard it as well. The words, _was that a threat?_, hanging in the air in response to Edelgard’s own words.

But the moment passes, as Edelgard makes a noise, halfway between a laugh and a noise of approval. She smiles back, close-lipped.

“Of course. Though I would not deny that I hope you would choose us. I have a feeling there is much I can learn from you.”

Byleth cocks a brow, before barking out her own laugh. “Hah! Silver-haired _and_ silver-tongued, are you? The regular person would be questioning if I’m suited for a job like this, you know. I’m young, virtually unknown and recently been placed in charge of educating what might be called Fódlan’s future leaders.”

“The regular person would not have seen you on the battlefield,” Edelgard retorts, raising her chin defiantly. “You’re strong. And if you defended me when I was but a stranger, I know I can trust you with more than just my life if I were to have the fortune of your guidance.”

“Or I could just be a bad influence,” Byleth grins, parroting her father’s words from the night before. “I came from nothing, you know? You don’t know anything about me. You shouldn’t trust someone with your education just because they happen to swing a sword well. Any fool can do that.”

“Perhaps you have a point,” Edelgard allows. “But I can at least be assured about your character, seeing as you’d saved me without expecting anything in return. That’s the most important thing, is it not?”

“How long is this going to continue?” Sothis grumbles midway, halting Byleth from responding. “How dull. Just say what it is you wish to say and be done with it. You’re beating a dead horse, both of you.”

Byleth does not roll her eyes, though it did feel like it took off a couple of years from the lifespan just from resisting the urge to do so. Relaxing her stance, she leans against the wall and sighs, waving her hand airily.

“Right, right, so you really want me as your instructor. I’ll keep that in mind, but enough verbal combat for now. Do nobles really do this all day?”

Edelgard blinks, taken off-guard by her sudden change in mannerisms. She smiles, more genuinely than the last. “You should not have started it if you weren’t prepared for it.”

“Noted,” Byleth intones, pushing herself off the wall with a grunt. “I’ll speak frankly from now on, then. But I’ll like for you to know that I’ll expect the same in return, so don’t pussyfoot next time. Just say you want me as your teacher instead of making a passive-aggressive comment like that.”

“Is that all I have to do?” Edelgard asks seriously, her face suddenly stern and her gaze unnervingly _fixated_. “Just ask and you’ll choose us?”

“Sure,” Byleth shrugs, craning her neck and stretching. “Of course, if the other house leaders ask the same, then it’ll be up to me in the end. But if you don’t come up and say what you want, no one would take your interests into consideration.” She angles a look at the girl, enunciating, “Even if I _know_, just from how you act, you’re not asking anything of me, are you?”

She sees Edelgard’s eyes widen minutely, before abruptly becoming sombre.

“Is it really as simple as you say?” Edelgard murmurs, almost as though the words aren’t really meant for her ears.

“Is it really as complicated as you think?” Byleth counters without missing a beat.

Looking unusually chastened, the princess draws back and averts her gaze. “I suppose you’re right. If I don’t ask, no one is obligated to think of what I want, is that right?”

“Right,” Byleth nods. “You have a voice, don’t you? Make use of it.”

“I…” Edelgard, seemingly struck by her words, flusters for a second, before clearing her throat decisively. She straightens and makes eye contact, the persona of the imperial princess visibly slipping back on her face like a mask. “Alright. I want you to teach us, the Black Eagles. Will you think about it?”

“I’ll think about it,” Byleth quirks another smile. “See? Not so hard. Now, why don’t we go to the mess hall? One of the guards showed me the way yesterday, but it’s always better to have someone to eat with. Will you join me?”

“Oh, I—yes, of course.”

“Just give me a moment, okay? I need to grab some stuff.”

“I’ll wait for you outside, then.”

Sothis waits for Byleth to close the door after her, as the princess leaves the room. She angles a smirk to the woman, vaguely impressed.

“Huh! Would you look at that? I think you’ll do rather well, here. You already have that girl hanging off your every word — most impressive.”

Byleth rolls her eyes, kneeling to grab her sword, which had been propped against the wall, before affixing it to her hip. “I wasn’t trying to do that. I just find talking circles around her exhausting. It’s true what I said; I expect people to simply ask rather than go into a long tangent about why I should do what they want, or trying to nudge me into doing as they wish like I’m some kind of chess piece.”

“How simple of you,” Sothis hums. “But I was not giving you empty praise. You clearly gave her a lot to think about — and that is a hallmark of a good teacher, isn’t it? Someone who makes you think.”

Byleth grunts noncommittally, clipping her dagger to her other side. “Maybe.”

Sothis drifts to the door, waiting for her to finish as Byleth pulls up her socks and slips her shoes on. She pauses before turning the knob, looking at Sothis.

“And _you_, stop mouthing off while I’m talking with someone. You’re seriously going to make me look like a psycho one day.”

Sothis huffs, propping her hands upon her hips, and throws her head back imperiously.

“How unfortunate. Best get used to it, then, yes?”

“_Ugh_. You’re awful.”

* * *

On the way to the dining hall, Claude nearly busts a gut laughing when he sees her.

“Oh! Look what we have here! A new student, entering our fold in the eleventh hour!”

Dimitri just stares at her, looking so horribly confused that Byleth almost feels like taking pity on him. Alas, it’s far too amusing to.

“But I thought…you are to be our professor?”

“Very subtle, both of you,” Edelgard says on her behalf, her voice terse as always but her demeanour distinctly exasperated. “Keep it down. We had promised not to say a word about it, didn’t we?”

“We did…” Dimitri says slowly, looking rapidly between the two before his eyes widen with realisation. “Ah! Are you, perhaps…masquerading as a student?”

“Masquerading,” Claude laughs, nearly losing his breath, “You make it sound like she’s attending a ball. But, _wow_, I did not expect this from you! To actually dress up and mingle with the students. Wouldn’t this be considered _scandalous_ to some people?”

“You can _consider_ yourself venison if you don’t stop that,” Byleth retorts, stepping in close and attempting to obliterate his foot with a mighty stomp.

Quick as an eel, he darts back, ducking behind Dimitri and using the taller boy as a meat shield. Though obviously exasperated by his fellow house leader, the prince tolerates this good-naturedly with a sigh.

“Woah! Calm down, calm down, I’m just poking fun,” Claude peers over Dimitri’s shoulder, unable to keep the smug smile off his face in spite of his verbal attempt to placate her, “No harm meant!”

“I’m sorry,” Edelgard says ruefully, turning to Byleth and not even bothering to lower her voice. “I had meant to avoid this, but it looks like we might be forced to join them at breakfast—”

“Edelgard!” Dimitri interjects, almost scolding. “Were you intending to monopolise her? How underhanded of you.”

“Yeah, _rude_. We're right here, Princess.”

“Monopolise is a strong word,” Edelgard starts, defensively, only for Claude to cut in this time.

“And you’re a _strong_ personality,” he drawls, completely ignoring the pinched look of annoyance on her face. Crossing his arms behind his head, he releases a great sigh to the sky. “You’re _way_ too aggressive. Dimitri will no doubt fight you for her, too, so I guess that means I’ll have no choice but to step up my game…”

“_Could_ we settle it with a fight?” Dimitri ponders aloud, looking much too interested in the idea as he glances at Edelgard significantly, who returns it with a challengingly raised brow. Byleth stands between them, suddenly feeling like she’s in mortal danger.

_Why do I feel like I’m trapped between a game of tug-of-war?_

_Inaccurate,_ Sothis’s voice rings out in her head. _A tug-of-war is between two parties. You’re clearly in between three._

She’s not entirely sure about that. Despite his words, the leader of the Golden Deer doesn’t seem to be trying very hard to sway her towards him, seeming more interested in inciting an argument between the other two house leaders for his amusement. Byleth glances at Claude, understanding innately that he’s a professional shit-starter and it’s his fault that Dimitri even got the idea in his head. She catches his eye and slowly mouths the word _venison_.

He only flashes a grin, finding humour in the threat. It makes her want to drop-kick him into the ocean.

“It’s way too early to discuss this,” Byleth says, barely managing to hold back a long-suffering groan. It does the job of drawing the attention of the other two and delaying their inevitable clash, at least. “You’re all attracting _way_ too much attention just by crowding around me; no need to worsen it by duking it out on the sidewalk at eight in the morning.”

It makes them straighten, realising abruptly that passersby whom they've been walking past have been sending the four of them surreptitious glances and whispering beneath their breaths to one another.

_“Aren’t those the house leaders?”_

_“Yeah, but who’s that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her.”_

_“I hear we have a new student; is that her?”_

_“It must be! But she seems oddly close to the leaders, doesn’t she?”_

_“I wonder how they know each other?”_

“Oh boy,” Claude chuckles. “The gossipy hens are back at it.” He turns to Byleth, lowering his voice. “So exactly what _is_ your cover story, anyway?”

Byleth looks at him blankly. “Why do I need a cover story?”

Claude raises a brow. “You’re basically on a _recon_, aren’t you? Gaining some intel, learning about your targets, all that jazz? Before you make a choice between our houses, I mean.” Byleth blinks. In response to her non-response, Claude sighs. “For example, what are you going to say if people ask which house you’re in? Orientation is already over, so most - if not _all_ \- of the students have settled into their respective houses. It would seem odd if you shrug and say _I don’t know_ when someone asks.”

Purely to spite him, Byleth does exactly that and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Beside her, Dimitri snorts, only to clear his throat and attempt a front of some dignity when Claude frowns up at him. Edelgard turns away in a meagre effort to hide her eye-roll.

“Come on, I’m trying to help you out here,” Claude gripes, nearly whining. “You wanna blend in and make it believable, don’t you?”

“Honestly, as a self-proclaimed _embodiment of distrust_,” Byleth paraphrases, making air-quotes, “I think hanging around you will make it difficult for anyone to believe my ruse. Even Dimitri would be a better pick, if I’m looking for a sidekick.”

“Ah, thank you?” Dimitri smiles tentatively, unable to tell if it’s a compliment. If it is, it’s a backhanded one. “The _even_ is unnecessary, though…”

“That’s your issue? Not the bit about being a sidekick?” Edelgard mutters. It gets completely buried under the sound of offense Claude makes.

“_Dimitri!_ His Royal Highness wouldn’t be able to fool _a blind man_,” he pauses in his tirade to turn to the prince, “No offense, but you don’t have a bone of deceit in your body.”

“That would ordinarily sound like a bad thing,” Dimitri simply keeps his smile, the implication plain to hear in the words left unsaid: _except it’s coming from you._

“Blind men are very hard to fool. You’ve clearly never tried,” Byleth scoffs. Before any of them could question her strange and specific knowledge about fooling the blind, she turns to gesture at Dimitri’s face. “And exactly. Look at this face. No one would expect him to try and fool anyone; by extension, they should not expect it of me, either, if someone of his calibre chooses to associate with me.”

On either side, Edelgard and Claude peer up at him. Dimitri only blinks at their scrutiny, looking like the perfect picture of guilelessness (and also strongly unsettled, which they ignore with ease).

“He does present an unassuming appearance,” Edelgard muses.

Claude considers it deeply, tapping his chin. “Male ingénue,” he adds.

“Please stop staring,” Dimitri smiles wryly, fidgeting in embarrassment.

Without hearing this, Claude pivots to face Byleth once more, whispering angrily, “Okay, but you can’t just shove Dimitri into their faces when someone asks you something you can’t answer! You need a _plan_.”

“How are you even more invested in this than I am?” Byleth sighs. “I’m kind of afraid to leave it up to you, though, so alright, _fine_. I guess my plan is half of the truth, since I’m sure rumours are already circulating around – I’m the daughter of a mercenary who’s earned a place here by saving three little lords and gaining their favour.”

“And your house?” Edelgard questions curiously, not seeming to care about being referred to as _little_.

Byleth crosses her arms and dully recites, “That’s up to the administration. Since I’m a recent addition, they haven’t worked out all the details yet. I’m not born of nor loyal to any of the three main territories, so it’s not as clear-cut as dropping me in whichever house that aligns with my place of birth. So I won’t be told which house I’ll be in until the week is over.”

“Hm, a little flimsy, but it’s as good a cover story as any,” Claude hums.

Halting her bored recitation, Byleth pulls a face at him. “I’d ask if you could do better, but that sounds like inviting trouble.”

“Not an entirely inaccurate assumption,” Edelgard dryly adds.

Dimitri thinks about it shortly, tilting his head as he cups it in a gloved hand, “And I suppose the reason why the administration is taking so long is because we’re each trying to pull you into our own houses, making the process more difficult for them?”

Byleth stops, staring at him. Claude takes a step away from the prince, appearing a little awestruck.

“Ah, I’ve underestimated you. That’s actually pretty good.”

Taking it in stride, Dimitri beams, “Half the truth, right? It’s not entirely a lie. We agree that we’re each hoping to have her teach our class, then?”

“Need that be said?” Edelgard asks rhetorically, coolly sweeping her pale hair off her shoulder. Claude smirks.

“Obviously,” he shrugs, “Who can pass up the chance to learn from someone with real experience?”

“Excellent!” Dimitri nods decisively, flashing them a confident smile, “May the best house triumph, then.”

Byleth watches this, with the vague horror and morbid fascination one might watch an impending train wreck. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, Sothis makes a noise of amusement.

_Well, well! It seems like they each have their heart set upon having you as their professor. How does it feel to be so coveted by the country’s future leaders?_

Byleth wants to keel over. _Like a royal pain in the ass and an empty pang in the stomach._

Screw that, this can wait. She needs her food and tea. Neither reacting to their three-way consensus nor bothering to wait for Edelgard and Claude’s undoubtedly cocksure responses to Dimitri’s declaration, Byleth books it and dashes ahead of the three, shouting over her shoulder with zero context, “Last one there is a rotten loser!”

“Ah?! Wait, please–”

“Loser, as in…?”

“Hey! Slow down!”

If she had looked back, she would’ve seen the three visibly scramble, misunderstanding her challenge to have significant impact on her final decision, before madly running after her in pursuit.

Onlookers would bear witness to this strange sight, nonplussed and mildly perturbed as the three house leaders attempt to overtake one another like children racing in a courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my hella messy tags, yeeeeeah, there's an implication that Byleth is a stepford smiler. Jeralt's POV in the first part pretty much says it. It's my attempt at reconciling my Chaotic Dumbass Bylass headcanon (in which she cycles through hardass mercenary, bullheaded idiot, disgruntled big sis type and lenient professor) with the poker-faced, unemotive canon Byleth who is uhhhh all but stated to be socially isolated? (In the unlikely event you've read my long-ass deconstructed Corrin fic, yeah, I have a thing for writing stepford smilers.)
> 
> This Byleth is the canon unemotive Byleth, except she learned how to act like other people by observing and copying, because she didn't want to worry Jeralt. So she's especially good at reading people and is actually quite good with them. It doesn't feel wholly genuine, though, so some of the characters might call her out on it later in this fic...
> 
> The whole first part of this chapter is literally me just writing my headcanon: that Jeralt had always PLANNED to go to the monastery. You're saying this guy evaded the church for twenty years, only to make the mistake of straying too close at the beginning of the game??? Hm, sure, sounds fake but ok. Am I actually right? Uh idk and I don't wanna know because if it is, then it's a part of the game I haven't played through. (NO SPOILERS PLS! I only played GD uwu pls no spoil I BEG)
> 
> Second part is just Sothis being a bystander and watching Edelgard be E(xtra)delga(y)rd for Bylass. What do you mean it's not canon?????? I haven't played her route yet and even I know Edelgard has a big fat crush on Byleth, my dudes. (I've been told by BE players that I'm not wholly inaccurate.)
> 
> Third part is just...a lot of trash talk between the house leaders. Nothing you say can make me believe these three DON'T throw shade at each other on a daily basis. They absolutely do. Two of them will routinely gang up on the third, only to swap roles like two seconds later.
> 
> You bet Claude is going to be extra invested in trolling his own schoolmates with Byleth. A scheme like this is totally up his alley. Byleth will regret letting him on the secret. Dimitri will mostly suck at this and be an Actual Risk to blowing her little charade. Edelgard would, weirdly, be the most chill about this.
> 
> At this point, Edelgard is actually the most determined to get Byleth to be her house professor. Dimitri and Claude haven't reached that stage yet but...soon. Lol. (Please let this be less than ten chapters. I'm-----)


	2. They're A Little Dumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could probably fake her death if this goes to shit. It's fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this time since I rushed it out so I can post it on the one month anniversary of FE3H's release. It's stupid to be happy about but YEET (also it's my birthday tomorrow, which my dumb ass forgot because I was thinking about FE3H instead lol)
> 
> Honestly, I already have bits and pieces of this written up but the hard part is stringing them together in a cohesive manner lmao. I considered just dumping it all here in non-chronologically format, like a series of drabbles or something, but I’m trying my damnedest to have some structure lmao
> 
> SPOILER(S) for this chapter: None, I think? Probably lol

Jeralt is there when she reaches the mess hall, taking what seems to be a loaf of bread to go. When he turns away from the server on duty, he spots her and stops, his expression strange.

Then, “I knew this was coming, but you still look really odd. Is that a headband?”

Sothis harrumphs, offended. _What a tasteless man! The headband is the GOOD part! Tell him!_

“Good morning to you, too,” Byleth drawls instead, ignoring the phantom girl nattering away in her head. She glances at his package, realising upon a closer look that it’s actually a sandwich, crammed with all manner of meat and vegetables. “Is that all you’re eating?”

He shrugs. “Unfortunately. I have a meeting with the knights scheduled, so this is all I can get. How are the brats?”

Byleth thinks about how to answer this, ranging from mentioning Edelgard’s formal request to teach the Black Eagles, to bellyaching about how the leader of the Golden Deer seems to be looking to involve himself in her little farce. But, before she can even begin to speak, Dimitri shouts from outside, sounding highly affronted.

“_Claude!_”

There’s a great crash, then a deathly silence as everyone in the room falls into befuddled shock, before the aforementioned noble pushes the doors to the dining area open, paying absolutely no mind to his name being angrily screamed. Looking a little too cheery, much like a cat who got the canary, he scans the crowd keenly before finding her and waving with huge, exaggerated motions. It makes everyone else turn to her as one; Byleth deadpans, debating if she should pretend to not know him or just strangle him and be done with it. He looks like he’s having a too much fun, honestly, which is why she has zero sympathy when Edelgard comes up from behind him and kicks his knee as she rushes towards Byleth.

Father and daughter watch this happen with identical nonplussed expressions. Byleth turns to Jeralt.

“They’re a little dumb,” she says, finally, long-suffering. He hums, takes a bite out of his breakfast, and ruffles her hair.

“Good luck, kid,” is all he says as he quickly evacuates the area, paying no mind as she snaps out of her blank shock to squawk at him.

“Ew, _dad!_ Breadcrumbs!” Byleth yells at his back, bending her head forward and rustling her hair frantically.

Jeralt only snorts at her predicament, sauntering out from one of the dining hall’s side exits, possibly in an attempt to avoid the three house leaders. Byleth has only just reaffixed her headband when Edelgard reaches her, huffing lightly from the run.

“Shall we find a seat?” She asks, perfectly composed like she had not just assaulted a fellow student in front of at least a third of the student body. Byleth stares at her.

“Uh,” she intones smartly, before Claude interrupts by joining them, moaning loudly in pain.

“I know you’re determined to win, but you don’t have to hit me _that_ hard, Princess,” he complains, staggering towards them dramatically as he rubs his left kneecap, which he had landed on after Edelgard had struck his knee from behind. “I think you bruised me!”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Edelgard declares simply, sparing him no pity. “You have my apologies, however. I did not expect you to be quite so delicate.”

Either the insult flies over his head or Claude has no problem with being referred to as delicate. Instead, he gasps theatrically. “_Love_? Oh my, Your Highness. You’ve only just met her! You sure move quick—”

Byleth doesn’t stay to hear the rest of their banter, pulling away quietly to glance out of the doors. There, she finds Dimitri, looking very panicked as he stands in front of a headless suit of armour upon a podium, clutching the helmet to his chest.

“What are you doing?” Byleth sighs tiredly. It has only been an hour since she’s been awake and she’s already regretting getting up. At her voice, he turns to her gracelessly, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Though she’s sure she’s not making _any_ kind of expression, Dimitri still quails beneath her gaze.

“Claude, that _cad_!” He says, nearly rambling, “He tripped me and I bumped into this display set as I fell—”

She walks up to him and pries the helmet from his hold, turning it in her hands to observe the damage. The visor has been knocked nearly clean off, bent and twisted oddly, and is barely hanging onto one hinge. On the side, she can see dents the size and shape of his fingers, deeply engraved into the reinforced steel and misshaping the helmet well beyond repair. Byleth _stares_.

Dimitri is still speaking. “I really didn’t mean to! I was only trying to find my balance—”

Calmly, to the backdrop of Dimitri’s flustered explanations, Byleth reaches up, affixing the helmet onto the rest of the armour. The visor creaks under the force of gravity, hanging lopsidedly. Dimitri stops to stare at it, wincing.

“Wait, we can’t just leave it like this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Byleth tells him, pulling his fretting hands away from the armour.

“But—"

“Don’t worry about it,” she repeats, patting his back and steering the nervous prince into the mess hall.

As the doors close, the visor falls off and drops with a clang of metal behind them.

* * *

For all that they seem to bicker, the house leaders are strangely quiet at breakfast — though that is probably because they’re too busy staring at her.

“Where do you put all that?” Claude marvels, watching intently as she scarves down her food like a starving animal. In her defence, they _did_ starve her for a while by delaying their arrival with their quarrelsome ways, although she does not bother stopping to tell him this. Snapping out of his daze, Dimitri looks up at the other boy, admonishing.

“Claude! That’s not something you say to a lady.”

“Ha, ha,” Claude rolls his eyes. “Funny you should say that, when you’ve been staring at her just as shamelessly as either of us have been. Don’t get mad at me for saying something that has been on your mind.”

Unable to defend himself, the Faerghan prince splutters, trailing off. “W—well, that’s to say…”

“I’ll appreciate it if you do not lump me together with you,” Edelgard tells Claude, voice sharp and brow raised. The Leicester heir only smiles, unruffled by her combative tone.

“Then hold off your appreciation, because I did exactly that!” He chirps.

_Spoke too soon,_ Byleth notes, watching as they banter. She doesn’t mind it, not really. Her father’s mercenaries are far noisier, even _chaotic_, especially on the days they manage to find an inn to stay at. Granted, Byleth herself would not say she’s particularly active in the early morning, her energy not truly kicking in until later in the day, but she’s not unaccustomed to waking to a lively atmosphere, what with the company she usually kept.

It’s the _attention_ the house leaders draw that bug her. Though Byleth has been doing well to keep up a front of composure, having so many eyes on her made the mercenary in her _bristle_.

As if it weren’t enough that their presence alone would attract the eyes of everyone else, their flashy arrival earlier had ensured that the attention would not _leave_ them until they did. Byleth suspects that Claude had done it on purpose, perhaps wanting to see how she’d fare under such pressure or some such nonsense, but Edelgard clearly does not _care_ to be subtle. For all of her reservation and uprightness, the imperial princess is actually shockingly dismissive of the idea of being judged, going by how unashamed she had been about incapacitating Claude so publicly just to reach her first.

Claude did not kick up much fuss about it, once Dimitri had entered the picture to confront him about his dirty tactics, though what he did do was laugh and shrug as he accepted the prince’s grievances.

“I didn’t expect you to lag behind so long. I take it you picked up the armour and put it back together, then?” He’d attempted to divert the topic. Dimitri had sagged in his seat, mortified by the reminder of his accidental destruction of monastery property. Without really thinking about it, Byleth had stepped on Claude’s foot beneath their table, earning a yelp.

With a toast in hand, Byleth looks at Dimitri beside her, thinking of the ruined helmet. _Goody-two-shoes, stupid strong. Tries too hard._

Then to Edelgard, sitting prim and proper across the table. _Determined, not above doing embarrassing or questionable things to get ahead._

Finally, at Claude. _A showman. Sly and smart,_ she thinks, remembering his genuine shock as Edelgard attacked him from behind while he basked in his victory._ But arrogant._

Something tells her she’d be screwed either ways, no matter who she chooses to teach. Byleth has only known them for maybe two days, and they’re all already making a handful of themselves. She can’t imagine what the rest of their peers would be like. Why had she accepted this job, again? Right, money. Curse her weakness.

Byleth reaches for Claude’s plate. “If you’re not eating that, then I will—”

This garners the desired reaction. He grabs at his meal quickly, pulling it out of her reach. “I’ll eat, I’ll eat! You win!”

“It’s because you talk too much,” Edelgard snarks, though it is a half-hearted and distracted quip as she daintily sips her soup. Byleth is not half as well-mannered as her, picking up her own bowl and tipping the contents into her mouth directly.

“You know, people are going to stare if you eat like that,” Claude mentions, picking at his food, “Especially in the company of Their Highnesses.”

Making a note that he did not include himself in the equation, Byleth lowers the bowl and snorts at him. “As if they aren’t already staring, thanks to you.”

“Me?” Claude gasps, “Whatever for? I’m the one who got assaulted. This is victim blaming!”

Byleth does not favour him with a reply, giving him a thin _look_. _You know what you did, you little shit._ She sees him falter slightly, before shaking her head and leaving it at that.

“You’re still on that? If you’re going to play dirty, don’t be so shocked if you wind up on the receiving end of those very tactics you employ,” Edelgard says, matter-of-factly.

Dimitri stares at both of them in consternation. “I’ll have to disagree with you on that front. Should you really resort to such trickery just because others do it?”

“You’ll lose out if you continue to think that way,” Edelgard replies archly. “Wasn’t that what happened? You’re taller than either of us, so your strides are wider. You were in the lead, too, until you let Claude come a little too close to you, believing he would be as fair as you. That was your mistake, hence why you placed last.”

“Ugh, I cannot deny that… But, even so!”

Watching this, Byleth is quiet, pushing her empty plates and bowl aside to drink her tea. _Should I tell them it wasn’t really a competition and I just wanted to get them here as fast as possible?_

_Why?_ Sothis asks, blasély. _Let them fight. It’s amusing._

Not untrue. If they’re going to make a scene whenever they’re together, she may as well enjoy it, being granted the front row seat and all. Byleth is now halfway certain that there are three houses _only_ to keep these kids from bashing heads all the time. Although, tiring as they are, they _have_ provided her with some entertainment while she had eaten. She’ll count that as compensation for being so conspicuous.

_It’s your fault for starting this, anyway,_ Sothis adds. Byleth ignores this blithely, sipping her tea.

“Anyhow, since I won, I shall be introducing her to my house first,” Edelgard declares, cutting through the argument and ignoring the protests of her fellow house leaders.

Dimitri frowns. “What? Don’t we get a say in this?”

“No, because you lost,” is her prompt, ruthless response.

Claude sighs, propping his chin up on his hand. His words are pointed, purposeful. “And does your venerated guest have a say in this?”

This gives Edelgard pause, throwing her off. Her expression is nearly embarrassed, before she finds her bearings again. Clearing her throat, the princess turns to her expectantly, seeking consent.

Byleth blinks, realising she suddenly has their full attention. “Uh, does it matter who’s first? Don’t make it a formal full house meeting, though. That’s too suspicious.”

Edelgard brightens, looking almost childlike in her gladness. “Well, that’s settled, then.”

“I suppose that means we will go last,” Dimitri sighs, smiling ruefully.

“You better watch out, Teach,” Claude leans in to whisper conspiratorially, curling both hands like claws. “If you’re not careful—_umph!_” he lurches forward, snapping his jaw with a loud click of his teeth. “The Black Vultures will eat you alive!”

“For the _last time_,” Edelgard snaps, her voice rising and sounding truly aggravated for the first time, “We are the Black _Eagles_. Vultures are scavengers; nothing they consume is alive. If you insist on these juvenile insults, at least do it _properly_.”

Byleth snorts, a slant of amusement to her smile. Deciding to play devil’s advocate, she points out, “Actually, black vultures _do_ sometimes hunt live prey—"

“_See_, I _am_ insulting you properly!” Claude snickers, “But, it’s great to know I have your permission to make fun of you. You’re such a good sport, Princess!”

While she does not throw herself bodily at him in an attempt to murder him, Edelgard does glance at his plate as though she’s considering upending it over his head. Byleth almost wants her to do it, just for something to laugh about later.

Finally, the imperial princess promises darkly, “Keep it up and I’ll make you venison.”

At the return of the insult she had coined earlier that morning, Claude turns a betrayed look to Byleth, to which she can only respond with a roar of laughter.

“Hah! And what does that make the Blue Lions?” Byleth grins, peering at the blonde, who had been quiet in hopes that their attention will not deflect to him. It’s his turn to stare at her, almost pitiably like she’d just thrown him into shark-infested waters.

Claude opens his mouth.

“Please don’t,” Dimitri begs, face crumpling.

Claude grins, flashing his teeth. “Blue Kittens.”

“Blue Kittens,” Edelgard agrees, apparently holding off any animosity towards the Golden Deer house leader to momentarily join cahoots with him.

Dimitri puts his face in his hands, muttering about how someone or another is going to kill him for the humiliating new moniker.

“That’s rather tame,” Byleth raises her brows. Though amused by Dimitri’s dismayed reaction to this, she had the impression that both Claude and Edelgard could do much worse, tart-tongued as they are.

“But it fits!” Claude shrugs. “I can’t speak for the rest of his house, but as much as Dimitri is a sight for sore eyes in a fight, he’s a little helpless out of it.” His voice goes high-pitched with baby talk, cooing at the prince, “_Like a new-born wittle baby kittyyy_—”

“Watch yourself, Claude,” Dimitri frowns, “I’ll definitely show you something in our next mock battle—”

Claude grins, unperturbed. “Ooh, _scary_. Have your claws already grown in?”

“Control yourself,” Edelgard huffs, her voice entertained despite her stiff words. “It will not do to provoke a lion when you’re only a deer.” Dimitri sends her a grateful look a smidge too early, as she is quick to continue, “Moreover, don’t you have any decency? Picking on a defenceless cub like that—”

Dimitri’s face falls. Claude crows with laughter. “Oh, you’re right! My bad.”

Before they can continue on this chain of conversation, Dimitri sighs and shakes his head. “Say what you wish, but I’m afraid I have to be going, now. I have to meet with my housemates for our morning training shortly, so this is where we’ll part.”

With that, he stands up, taking his tray with him. Nodding politely to the other house leaders, he is about to leave, before abruptly remembering something and turning to Byleth with a bright smile. “Oh! You are, of course, welcomed to join us any time! The Blue Lions have made reservations at the training grounds for the rest of the week, so feel free to come by.”

“Yeah, sure,” Byleth replies, a bit noncommittally, and waves absently. “Bye.”

He nods, smiling still, before making his way to return the tray to the kitchens. One of the kitchenmaids intercepts when he’s halfway there, bowing and insisting to relieve him of his burden. Byleth watches as he humbly bows back, thanking her as he hands it over, before disappearing out of the mess hall.

“Do you think we’ve upset him? He was rather curt with us,” Edelgard is saying. Byleth turns her attention back to her, mildly surprised to see genuine concern furrowing the girl’s brow. “Perhaps we have pushed too far; the namesake of his house is far more personal to his country than either of our houses.”

Claude only shrugs, not seeming to care too much. “He _does_ spar with his housemates every morning; you saw how light he ate. Don’t worry too much about it,” he says, before leaning forward and whispering loudly to Byleth. “Just between you and me, _Dimitri_ is actually the good sport, not Princess over here.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Edelgard says wryly, any concern for Dimitri shelved as she side-eyes at the boy. “Even the Saints would have found you infuriating, Claude.”

He beams at her. “Why, thank you, Your Highness! I certainly try.”

“Wait,” Byleth interrupts, holding up a hand to halt their trash talk. “You have to make _reservations_ for the _training grounds_?”

At her incredulous tone, they pause briefly, sharing a look before Claude laughs. “I know, it sounds ridiculous, being a military school and all, but there are _a lot_ of students here. So yes, some facilities require to be booked if you want to use it. The Knights of Seiros are allowed to use the facilities, too, so you basically have to race for the right to use them.”

“Only the professors will be able to make reservations during the term, however,” Edelgard continues, giving her a significant look. _That means you._ “At least, for the school week. Students are allowed to reserve it for personal use during the weekends and in between the academic years. Unfortunately for us, the Blue Lions had moved quick and chose to book it for the two weeks after orientation, from every morning to noon.” She scowls, peeved. “I believe some of them even reserved it at _night_, leaving us with only the warmest times of the day.”

“Oh, yeah, I think I heard Lorenz griping about it,” Claude comments, leaning on his arms. “I can’t be sure, though; I tune out about half of the things he says.”

For a moment, Edelgard looks disapprovingly at him, as if she’s about to chastise him for ignoring his housemates, before her expression sours with remembrance and, oddly, _empathy_. In the end, she only shakes her head.

“Well, I guess they would,” Byleth muses. “They’re from up north, aren’t they? Makes sense they would hide away indoors when the sun is overhead. They’re probably still not used to warmer climates.”

At her wording, Claude snorts.

“When you put it that way, I suppose it can’t be helped,” Edelgard sighs. “I don’t mean to complain. Even the most diligent of my housemates tend to fuss about the heat after only a few hours, so I hope you’ll excuse my grievances.”

“Why don’t you just strip down,” Byleth asks confusedly, utterly serious. It makes both of them, even Claude, goggle at her for a bit, unable to comprehend her logic.

Finally, Claude slaps a hand over his mouth, trying to swallow his amusement. “_Pfft_.”

“What?” Byleth demands defensively, making a face at him.

“Well, uh, has it never crossed your mind that that’d be inappropriate in a school setting?” He chortles. “Or that most of the students, being nobles, would not wish to expose themselves that way?”

“So, you’re saying they would rather pass out from heatstroke,” Byleth deadpans. Closing her eyes, she pinches the bridge of her nose and releases a deep sigh, wondering how she’s supposed to keep any of them alive if they lack this much self-preservation. “Alright, got it.”

Edelgard clears her throat. “Don’t worry, we do have the sense to stop if we feel unwell.”

“Or you could go on and train as per normal if you take off a few articles of clothing…” Byleth says slowly, pointedly. Unable to take it, Claude succumbs and bursts out laughing. Ignoring this, she waves her hand airily. “But whatever suits you, I guess…”

Edelgard purses her lips, though oddly does not look strictly displeased by her suggestion. Maybe she even agrees – she _did_ kick Claude where everyone could see; what's showing a bit of skin? – but it’s probably pretty useless advice, given that most nobles would be too prudish to be persuaded into stripping for training, no matter how sound the logic.

Going quiet, the princess thinks about it at a length, and Byleth starts wondering, a bit belatedly, how many people within the academy’s faculty will come after her ass if she somehow manages to talk the Adrestian princess into ordering a shirtless training regimen.

Feeling like she had quite possibly signed her death contract, Byleth starts, _So, about that Divine Pulse you mentioned the other day—_

Sothis doesn’t even miss a beat. _No. Absolutely not._

Huh, well. If her father could flee from this place and evade them for twenty years, it shouldn’t be an issue for her, right?

She's in the middle of thinking how to best fake her death when a groan suddenly cuts through the silence.

“Not again,” Claude grumbles beneath his breath, catching their attention. He’s staring at something near the entrance of the dining hall, his expression faintly annoyed. It surprises her somewhat; she’s not sure she had ever seen him with anything but merriment or amusement, though his current irritation feels more real than either of those.

Curious, Byleth turns in her seat to glimpse at the source of his disdain. Another student, tall and lanky, is standing by the door. He’s a bit of an odd sight, his facial features all angles and sharp lines and carrying a noble bearing about him. There’s a rose ostentatiously pinned to his uniform. He gestures impatiently for Claude to join him, wholly unsubtle about it, and, appearing startled to have gained both Edelgard’s attention and hers, gives them a pressed smile and bows with a flourish.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Claude sighs. Righting himself, he announces with forced cheer, “And that, dear friends, would be my cue to leave. Have a good one!”

With that, he leaps off of his seat, before pivoting and bowing deeply to them, in a mockery of the other boy’s earlier bow.

“_Miladies,_” he bids, an obnoxious tone to his voice. Byleth can’t stop her noise of disgust.

“_Ugh_, don’t _call_ me that.”

It falls on deaf ears as he simply grins and, thrusting his tray to a passing worker with a charming smile and hurried thanks, sprints away, quick as the wind.

“He’s a slippery one,” Byleth snorts, staring after him.

“I won’t deny that,” Edelgard sighs, picking up her own tray. “Well, shall we go? I wish to introduce you to some friends of mine.”

Finished with her tea, Byleth nods and follows after.

Surely none of them could be anymore eccentric than the trio she’s already met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand Byleth just jinxed herself. I had meant to include one more scene, but decided to save it for next chapter because I REALLY wanted to post this on 26th Aug lol
> 
> I’m not done with Blue Lions (in fact I barely even started because lmao guess who’s a completionist and spent hours to get all A supports and Byleth’s S supports) and I know Dimitri will be Big Mad and Big Sad in timeskip, but also he’s BIG DUMB and I love my dorky pasta boi. He absolutely commits school property damage and vandalism on accident, don’t @ me. Byleth is just “haha nothing to see here, it was like that before we got here lmao bye” (Offscreen: She has to physically restrain him from rushing back out of guilt when the visor fell off.) Byleth and Dimitri’s dynamic is a manchild taking care of a bigger manchild.
> 
> Edelgard is the Comically Serious trope. This is my canon now. She would lowkey (highkey) do something stupid or scandalous if it’ll help her reach her goals.
> 
> I hc Edelgard and Claude only being particularly savage to each other. If they're too mean to Dimitri, they'll feel like they're picking on a child lol. (Battles though? Edelgard would definitely throw hands with him, that's fair game lol)
> 
> Edelgard hears Claude talking shit about Lorenz and is like "ah, so that's your Ferdinand." Together with Sylvain, they make up the unholy trinity of "got-shade-thrown-at-them-by-their-house-leader-to-the-new-professor." Basically canon, honestly (I think only Hilda got more shade thrown at her in the chapter 1 intros lmao CLAUDE PLS--).
> 
> New characters next chapter. Byleth won't strictly adhere to the BE-GD-BL meet ups because she never intended the race to actually be a competition, but that's already their Game Plan.


End file.
